Two robins fly on a branch in February... The naturalists lie through their ignorance. "It's not uncommon to see the bird "In winter time." Yet, I never have until today. Never once, in thirty-two years Have I seen a robin in February. The Blackbirds had I seen, And in one week, the Robin? A sure sign of spring, Should the Robin tarry in winter It means eternal spring. It means, unfortunately, the climate Is changing. There is no way A half-millennia's worth of wisdom is wrong.
Tag: Global Warming
Mourning Dove
The sticks of winter’s hoary frost
Stand dead in March’s bitter cold;
The turtle doves find their soulmates
For the last spring is upon them.
Whooo-o: Whoooo: Whoo—Whoo
The turtle doves sing for their mates
The sole occupation of their
Innocent minds. All conversing
With the same melody. Not like
Our long, stronger conversations
Who must bond over complexities.
They mindlessly sing long melodies
Of whose sounds similar; I sing
Their song; hope for my turtledove,
That maybe she knows this too. And
I will have more springs to sing songs
To the innocent little birds I love.
We turtle doves gives all our cry
For the last spring there will ever be.
Cold, for the February heat.
Whooo-o: Whoooo: Whoo—Whoo.
They find love one last time, as their
Innocent loves become extinct.
Until man fixes his cold heart
I will hear this sad song every March.
On my mind will be the lowing
Of the Turtle Doves, wondering
Whether this will be the last Spring.
Mourning Dove
The sticks of winter’s hoary frost
Stand dead in March’s bitter cold;
The turtle doves find their soulmates
For the last spring is upon them.
Whooo-o: Whoooo: Whoo—Whoo
The turtle doves sing for their mates
The sole occupation of their
Innocent minds. All conversing
With the same melody. Not like
Our long, stronger conversations
Who must bond over complexities.
They mindlessly sing long melodies
Of whose sounds similar; I sing
Their song; hope for my turtledove,
That maybe she knows this too. And
I will have more springs to sing songs
To the innocent little birds I love.
We turtle doves gives all our cry
For the last spring there will ever be.
Cold, for the February heat.
Whooo-o: Whoooo: Whoo—Whoo.
They find love one last time, as their
Innocent loves become extinct.
Until man fixes his cold heart
I will hear this sad song every March.
On my mind will be the lowing
Of the Turtle Doves, wondering
Whether this will be the last Spring.
Protected: The Real Life Lorax
Another Season
Another season
Tapped out of time.
Where, oh wear
Does the worry on my soul.
Every divination is false.
Every sign in nature is deaf.
The five bluebirds I saw in winter coat,
They please me, to show me one last time their color.
If there is anything for me here
Let it come.
If not, take my soul away,
Let me hide in the grave.
Sadness permeates my bones.
Sadness.
Madness permeates my bones.
What I want is right before me.
Some wind takes it away.
The myth of Guinevere daunts me
Adultery stings my brow.
How men, giving everything they have
End up with nothing in the end.
How happiness is fleeting.
Madness. Let me have my heifer and two sheep.
And I mean anger, not insanity.
B. K. Neifert 